Skip to main content

900 Bottles of Love

In a letter written toward the end of the eighteenth century, Benjamin Franklin affirmed that wine is "a constant proof that God loves us, and loves to see us happy."  Aficionados of the fruit of the vine would likely concur.  What's often missed, however, are scriptural bases for a statement such as Franklin's.

This week we'll be two Sundays removed from the Epiphany, and the gospel text from St. John is the story of the wedding in Cana: the one which features Jesus' miraculous transformation of water into wine.  A well-known tale, even to those who are barely familiar with Christian tradition, it's typically considered Jesus' first miracle (though only the fourth gospel includes the story).

And it happens something like this: Jesus, his mother, and his disciples are all invited to a wedding.  Details about whose wedding this was aren't included.  But it was probably a pretty big celebration, as weddings in that time tended to be, with the festivities normally lasting several days.  And in the midst of the party, the wine runs out--prompting the mother of Jesus to tell him there isn't any.  Jesus doesn't initially appear bothered by this, asking why he or his mother should be concerned, but relents when Mary tells the servants to do whatever he instructs.  Ceremonial water pots are filled at Jesus' behest, but wine is drawn from them.  And the shindig continues.

What I don't often hear expounded upon, even though the evangelist calls our attention to it, is the amount of water used and therefore the amount of wine produced.  We're told that six jars holding twenty to thirty gallons each were filled "to the brim."  On the low end, that's 120 gallons of water which became 120 gallons of wine.  On the high end, it's 180 gallons.  For perspective, that translates to something like 900 bottles of wine.  For even more perspective, the average American consumes only twelve bottles per year.

Now I'm not sure how large this gathering was.  The whole town could've been there; such a thing wasn't uncommon in Jesus' day.  But 900 bottles of wine?  That's a lot!  That's exorbitant!  That's excessive!  And that's the point.

Jesus addresses the lack at the wedding in Cana not only by providing, but by providing more than enough.  And in doing so, he shows us how it is God gives.  Freely.  Unreservedly.  Lavishly.  It reminds me of another story, this one told in all four gospels, wherein a multitude (more than five thousand) is fed with five loaves and two fish.  And twelve baskets of leftovers are collected.  Indeed, the pages of scripture are replete with such reminders of God's extravagantly-generous love for God's creation.

And in my mind, that's a key lesson which can be gleaned from this passage.  Mr. Franklin implied, seemingly with a wink, that wine draws our attention to how much we're loved by our Maker.  Though he may have offered this insight tongue-in-cheek, it takes on an astounding shape in light of this story as we see the amount of the drink God, through Christ, provided.  If love were measured in wine, this story's inundated.

Now people are going to debate the veracity of this account, whether or not it should be read literally.  Others will contend as to its meaning or application.  I've even heard some say that the wine produced wasn't actually wine, because Jesus wouldn't promote such debauchery.  But regardless of one's opinions on these things, one point which I think is clearly made ought to remain in view: that the love of God is rich and abundant, overflowing our cups.  May our hearts always be open to receive this love, so that--like those first disciples--we might believe.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Thoughts on Ephesians 5.1-2, 6-14

S   Therefore, imitate God like dearly loved children.  Live your life with love, following the example of Christ, who loved us and gave himself for us.  He was a sacrificial offering that smelled sweet to God.  Nobody should deceive you with stupid ideas.  God’s anger comes down on those who are disobedient because of this kind of thing.  So you shouldn’t have anything to do with them.  You were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord, so live your life as children of light.  Light produces fruit that consists of every sort of goodness, justice, and truth.  Therefore, test everything to see what’s pleasing to the Lord, and don’t participate in the unfruitful actions of darkness.  Instead, you should reveal the truth about them.  It’s embarrassing to even talk about what certain persons do in secret.  But everything exposed to the light is revealed by the light.  Everything that is revealed by the light is light.  Therefore, it says, Wake up, sleeper!  Get up from the dead, a

Thoughts on Ritual

One of the issues I’ve most frequently bumped up against in my relatively young ministry is that of the use of ritual in worship.  To clarify, the arguments against ritual have normatively been aimed at use of specific liturgical elements—responsive readings, recited creeds, written prayers, et cetera (rarely, if ever, has anyone groaned about lighting candles, processing the Bible, or offering a benediction at the conclusion of worship—though these are ritual too).  All the same I’m sympathetic to those who are hesitant to embrace ritual, because I’ve been there.  I’m well aware that it can feel cold, rigid, or uninspired.  I realize that, at times, it seems like dropping formalities in favor of extemporaneity can facilitate a feeling of “Spirit-led” worship. Yet the problems so many Christians have with ritual stem, in my opinion, from a lack of understanding about what it is.  Ritual is, in reality, just a particular way of doing something.   It’s a customary practice.  But we

The Touching of Heaven and Earth

It's been a few years since I first encountered the phrase "thin places."  I wish I could recall precisely where I read or heard it––my best guess is that it was during my seminary studies––but I'll never forget the chord it struck with me, because of what it conveys. The notion of thin places is especially popular in Celtic spirituality, and has to do with the idea that there are some places––not necessarily physical locations––where the presence of the divine is most tangible, most real .  I can myself point to a number of experiences wherein God's closeness was so overwhelming that even if for a moment I felt we could be no closer.  My baptism.  Most every time I've baptized another.  The sharing of the Eucharist in nursing facilities.  Conversing with persons who are incarcerated.  Worshiping with congregations of other racial and ethnic identities.  These are the sorts of places that, for me, are so "thin" that it feels as if heaven and earth